


It's Hard To Tell When All Your Love's In Vain

by demonicweirdo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Cure, Demon Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Stilinski Family Feels, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicweirdo/pseuds/demonicweirdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Even when I barely knew you, when I barely <em>liked you</em>, I would save your life because I thought it was <em>worth</em> saving. So stow the self-loathing crap and take it as a compliment.”</p><p>Derek frowned. “Take you going to Hell for me as a compliment?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Hard To Tell When All Your Love's In Vain

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Robert Johnson's _Love In Vain_ , and then there's a quote from another song of his below. He's mentioned on that episode of Supernatural. Legend says he sold his soul (waggles fingers).  
> Okay, two people die, right? But they're temporary deaths, so you don't have to worry. They might be triggering, though, so there's that.  
> And demon!Stiles (if you read the tags, it's not spoiling anything) is a bit of a dick. But, hello, _demon_.  
>  Also, I changed a few things. Like, Stiles can create his own body with the black smoke, _and_ possess people. Just the little things.  
>  Update: I totally edited the ending, and wow was the original one crap, I totally skipped past all the angst in that one. But this one looks more realistic -D

**I went to the crossroad**

**fell down on my knees**

**Asked the Lord above "Have mercy, now**

**save poor Bob, if you please"**

-Robert Johnson, [Crossroad Blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yd60nI4sa9A)

* * *

 

 

Derek hastily shoved handfuls of dirt over the tin box he had placed in the hole he had dug. He stood up immediately, tearing his gaze from the ground to scan his surroundings.

Four roads branched out from where he stood, and surrounding the crossroads were patches of some ugly yellow flower. Derek felt a twinge in his chest when he remembered Stiles screwing up his face at one of those flowers, calling them “ _yarrow flowers_ ”.

“Your alpha let you out this late? I'm shocked,” a woman spoke up from behind him.

Derek tensed and spun around, unnerved at the fact that he didn't smell or hear the woman approach.

She was pretty, objectively. Blonde, short skirt, long legs. She didn't look like she had a warped, burned soul, didn't look like hellspawn. Didn't exactly look innocent, either.

“Derek Hale. Three guesses as to why you're here?” she drawled, giving him a slow once-over.

“I want-”

“Let me guess... Stiles?” She grinned at Derek's clenched jaw. “Stiles sold his soul for you to live, didn't he? A year later he gets torn to bloody shreds. _Two_ years later, Scott lets it slip, huh? You're just... three years late.”

“How do you know all this?” Derek demanded, nothing left in him but cold anger and steel resolve. His claws were itching to swipe the smug expression off the girl's face, if _she_ weren't innocent.

Her eyes switched black, and she let out a little laugh. “I'm not your average crossroads demon, Hale. The moment I heard you were going for a deal, I fought through dozens of those bloodthirsty idiots for one thing: to stop you.”

It took a while for that to sink in. “What? I thought demons – you're meant to-”

“Buy your soul?” the girl finished, grinning. “Yeah you see, I know Stiles. Don't give me that look, like you have some sort of monopoly on him,” she sneered.

“Deals with us demons... ninety-percent of them are for wealth. Money, the big cheese. The rest are for love. _I want this girl to like me_ , _I want this guy to fall in love with me_ , _I want to get married._ Stiles? He sold his soul _for_ someone else. Not for himself. The kid he was before? He gave up everything for love. Don't waste it.”

Derek scoffed bitterly, glaring at the demon. “What do you know of love? How the _hell_ do you know why Stiles sold his soul? Why he left everyone? You're a _demon_ ,” Derek spat.

The girl pouted. “Derek, you wound me. Like I said – I'm no ordinary crossroads demon, sweetheart.”

The girl opened her mouth, and black smoke started pouring out, faster and faster, increasing thickness until the girl was just gasping at air. She fell to the ground, unconscious, and the black smoke swirled in a pile at Derek's feet. It spun around, gradually solidifying into the shape for a body. A human body, a boy's body.

Derek stumbled back, his cool facade broken, his eyes wide.

The demon opened his eyes, and the blackness in them faded to those amber eyes that Derek had never been able to forget, after all this time.

“Stiles,” he choked out. “Oh... God, no.”

Stiles grinned, as sarcastic and arrogant as ever. “So... what was it you wanted?”

* * *

_**Peter's after you. Run** _

_Stiles glanced at the message briefly, before handing the phone back to Scott. “We have to get you somewhere safe, Scott.”_

_Scott shook his head, clenching his jaw stubbornly. “I'm not hiding. Derek's in trouble, I can feel it.”_

_Stiles felt himself going white and pale. No matter how many times Derek survived a bad situation, it always left Stiles thinking about all the “what if's”, always left him panicked and worried as hell. Derek wasn't a god, he wasn't invincible. His luck was bound to run out and it was always running through Stiles' mind. What if today is the day it goes to shit? What if Derek doesn't make it this time?_

_But Stiles shook his head anyway. “Scott, he told you to run. You should run. If Peter's after you, he's after your power. He'll_ kill _you, Scott.”_

_Scott was already running towards the door, Stiles stumbling to keep up, throwing over his shoulder, “We're not leaving him, Stiles. I can handle Peter.”_

_Stiles rolled his eyes, even though his stomach was churning with the anticipation of danger, his hands shaking with adrenaline already._

“ _Okay, let me drive. And once we kill Peter, we're burning him up and scattering his ashes across the continent. No chances.”_

_Scott nodded as Stiles started the jeep and pulled out of his driveway. “I'm not arguing with you on that.”_

_The rest of the ten minute drive to Derek's was spent in tense silence, which Stiles wasn't inclined to break, but hated more than the actual fighting. He wasn't a sit-still kind of guy. He had to be_ doing _something._

_And then Scott's claws dug into his palm, and he let out an agonised howl just as Stiles pulled up at the loft. Stiles didn't need to be a wolf to know what it meant._

* * *

“You're... You're dead, Stiles,” Derek said, shaking his head, wanting to look away from those blank eyes that teased him, reminiscent of Stiles' warm ones. But he couldn't, because he had spent two years thinking he would never see that unique shade of brown again.

Stiles smirked. “Nothing gets past you, does it? I'll dumb it down for you: Stiles sells his soul. Stiles goes to hell. Stiles' soul gets tortured. Stiles becomes a demon. You with me so far?”

Derek took a deep breath, inhaling the stench of sulfur and the faint, underlying scent of Stiles. “This is a trick. You're playing with me.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I don't play with my food. So, what is it you want, huh? Your dead family back? That first girlfriend of yours, what was her name... Payton? Paige? Or... Laura?”

“What,” Derek said faintly, too shocked at what was coming out of Stiles' – the _demon's_ – mouth to phrase it like a question.

Stiles huffed out a weary, annoyed sigh. “You're not selling your soul, Derek. Not for me, not for anybody. I didn't become a demon just so you could throw your life away like it never meant anything to me.”

Derek swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt sick, and he could smell his own blood where his claws were digging into his palm, but he felt no pain. “But you're a... a demon. Nothing – you're not meant to have feelings. You're not meant to _love_.”

Stiles clapped slowly, sarcastically, walking around Derek, circling him. “Hallelujah, he gets it. I don't love you, Derek. But the kid I was? He loved you. You kinda blew it there, buddy.” Stiles shrugged, his eyes flickering black for a moment. “I'm a demon, and even _I_ respect that kid's choice. You should, too. He obviously, for some reason, thought you were worth saving.” Stiles gave him a critical once-over. “All I see is a broken wolf pretending to be a man.”

* * *

_The moment he saw Derek's body, lying on the floor, his throat ripped through deeply, gruesomely, everything else was numb._

_Derek's eyes were open and unseeing, and there was no rise-and-fall of his chest, no breathing._

_Stiles heard a roar, probably from Scott, but he ignored it. He wouldn't be able to do much in the fight anyway._

_He dodged Peter's claws going for him and continued to Derek's body, lying in the middle of an almost-empty room, while Scott went for Peter._

“ _No,” he heard himself mutter. “No, you bastard.” His voice broke as he dropped to his knees, one shaking hand reaching out to brush against the gash in Derek's neck. He fought down bile and cupped Derek's jaw, turning his limp head to face Stiles._

 _Those eyes – pale green and gold – were empty, sightless. The permanent frown that Derek wore was smoothed out, but Stiles found no victory in this. It had been a sort of mission of his, to get Derek to smile, to get him to relax for half a second. And he succeeded, but he wasn't done. He wasn't done making him smile, he wasn't done with the banter, the jokes, the_ looks _for god's sake. Derek couldn't just leave, not yet, not when he was just getting his life on track. He had a sister and a pack and he was planning on fixing the hole in his wall._

_Stiles didn't feel the tears slide down his cheeks but he saw them drop onto Derek's shirt._

_He didn't notice when the fight ended, when Scott's claws dug into Peter's chest._

* * *

Derek shook his head. “I'll... I'll sell my soul, to have you back. Human.”

Stiles dragged a hand down his face. “It's like talking to a brick wall, I swear. Listen to me: _I like being a demon_. I _didn't_ like going through all that torture. I didn't like going through _Hell_. And I went through Hell for you, buddy, so you can wallow in guilt all you want, but if you try and sell your soul to get me back, I will torture you into brain-death.”

This wasn't the Stiles Derek remembered. Stiles would never have just _allowed_ Derek to “wallow in his own guilt”.

It was too much. When Derek found Scott at the hospital, looking too broken to muster a single tear, when he stormed into the morgue and saw Stiles' body – pale, cold, jagged scars running up the length of him – he regressed to the man who had returned to Beacon Hills after his sister. Angry, sullen, closed-off. Guilt-ridden because he _should've known_. He should've done _something_.

And then Scott, his alpha, wouldn't stop giving him these narrow-eyed looks, as if he were looking for something in Derek and was disappointed.

The first anniversary of Stiles' death, Scott had shut himself away. Everyone had. The sheriff worked, like he did every day, and no one had the heart to tell him to rest for one day, to let himself mourn his only son and last family member.

The second anniversary, Scott had turned up, angry and drunk on aconite vodka, at Derek's loft, storming in, red-eyed and with unsheathed claws.

That's when Derek learned, through deciphering Scott's yelling and growling, what exactly Stiles had died for.

Lydia _hadn't_ brought him back like she did with Peter. Stiles sold his soul for Derek to live, and a year later he was dead.

* * *

“ _Let me guess – girl trouble?” a voice purred in Stiles' ear._

_Stiles closed his eyes and shuddered, not daring to face the man behind him, the demon._

“ _Wrong gender.”_

“ _Boy trouble?” The demon sounded skeptical. “Surely not. Young twink like you? You'd be fighting them off with a shotgun.”_

_Stils turned around now, and fixed the demon with a glare. “I want you to bring Derek Hale back.”_

_The demon raised an eyebrow. “Derek Hale? You, Stiles Stilinski – his polar opposite in every way – are willing to give up your life, your_ soul _, to save some broken man who killed his whole family? Though, I suppose you've got the self-sacrificing thing in common.”_

“ _Can you do it, or not?” Stiles asked him, his voice hard and cold._

_The demon nodded. “I'll bring back your Derek, and you get one year.”_

_Stiles blanched. “Rumour has it you give people ten years.”_

_The man shrugged. “Usually, yeah, we do. But when it comes to resurrection? You're lucky you get as long as you do, kid. One year, or a lifetime without your precious werewolf. What's it going to be?”_

_Stiles looked away, tearing his gaze from those black eyes, focusing on his hands. Hands that still hadn't been washed of Derek's blood. He could feel himself break down, he could feel the stinging in his eyes signalling the oncoming tears. It wasn't_ fair _. It wasn't fair that Stiles had to give up his life, it wasn't fair that no one expected him to, that no one else was volunteering their own. That no one was there for Derek and when Stiles was gone, no one would care as much._

_But it wasn't fair that Derek had died, at the hands – or claws – of his own uncle, no less. Derek deserved a second chance, he deserved to finish atoning for his family's death, to accept that it wasn't his fault. Stiles had no such endeavours in life, he had no obstacles to overcome. He was living life without the cares and guilt Derek carried; he didn't need to resolve anything. It was easy enough to make the decision._

_Stiles looked up, at the demon, and nodded._

_And then the demon, looking smug and satisfied and a little gleeful, cupped the back of Stiles' neck and drew him in for a long, slow kiss, which Stiles failed to not flinch at._

_Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, because he didn't want to see what he was kissing, he didn't want to see what he was_ doing _, and when the demon's lips left his and he opened his eyes, he was alone, at a crossroads, in the middle of the afternoon with dried blood smothering his hands._

_The first thing he did was call Lydia._

* * *

Stiles sighed and waved a hand at Derek. “Off you go. This conversation is done.”

Derek's voice hardened. “I'm not finished.”

The air got colder between them. “Yes, you are,” Stiles gritted out. “You better get out of here, _mutt_ , before I kill you out of pure irritation.”

Stiles was right in front of him, an inch between them, an inch taller than Derek. They glared at each other, Derek flashing his eyes blue, Stiles keeping his black.

And then Derek stepped away, still glaring. “I'll find a way to save you,” he said, though it came out more like a threat.

Stiles let the black in his eyes recede just to roll them. “Don't waste your energy saving someone who doesn't want to be saved. You had your chance with me, Derek. You should live and let go.”

Derek closed his eyes, wishing to God that this wasn't his last image of Stiles: cold, unfeeling, seemingly one step away from homicide. “You never gave me a chance,” he mumbled, low enough that any human wouldn't have been able to hear, but he was certain Stiles would've.

When he opened his eyes again, he didn't expect to see Stiles still standing there, and he didn't.

* * *

_Stiles distanced himself from Derek after that. When he saw Derek, standing at his doorstep, a day after he made the deal, he smiled, waxed poetic about Lydia's magical banshee powers, and then silently praised God that Scott called him before it got awkward. He gave Derek an apologetic shrug, and Derek gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and Derek left._

_Stiles knew that Derek knew his behavior was abnormal. With anyone else, with someone Stiles barely knew, he would've hugged them, would've let himself smile, would've let them spend more than five bloody minutes in his company._

_But whatever they had been building up to – because they had been building up to_ something _– was lost. Stiles couldn't let things go on the way they were before, he couldn't let Derek in, he couldn't allow Derek to so much as_ like _him, because Stiles was just going to hurt him when he left._

_So he spent his last remaining year hanging out with his father, teaching him about healthy eating instead of just giving him a salad and using the excuse of college to explain why he was preparing his father for a life without him._

_He observed himself – almost like an out-of-body experience – become more reckless, getting into situations where the chances of getting_ out _were slim. He was pretty sure he had to rescue Derek another couple of times, which Derek would yell at him for, before they fell back into merely acquaintances, more hostile hurt on Derek's side and panic on Stiles' side._

_Stiles was adamant not to die a virgin. Stacy was the first._

_And then, to be sure it wasn't a fluke, there was Patrick, Jordan, Clarissa, Faye, Brett, Candice, Darren, and Kyle._

_Scott tried to talk to him about it, but Stiles wasn't ready to see the pain in his best friend's eyes when he found out what Stiles had done, so he'd just deflect and live in that moment, the moment with his best friend, his brother, because he knew he wouldn't have many left._

_Lydia tried to lecture him, being the only person who knew why Derek was really back. But, when she saw how hard Stiles was trying, to not break, to make memories that he could cherish with his Dad, Scott, Allison, Lydia – hell, even_ Isaac _– she backed off. But whenever it became too much, Stiles would go over to her place, and she'd listen while he talked about his fears for the only future he had left, and they'd both cry and comfort each other._

_She'd always ask “Do you regret it?”_

_And each time, he'd think long and hard, but the answer would still be the same: “He'll be alive. I don't want to live a life when he's another headstone with the name_ Hale _engraved on it. It's for the best... he's stronger than I am.”_

_Lydia would hug him, a strong and almost constricting grip. “I don't believe that for a second. But whatever happens, however bad it gets, don't let that go. Your reason. Your love for him. They can't take that away, not even in Hell.”_

* * *

Lydia stormed into the loft, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. The hurt had been simmering since Stiles died. The anger was new.

“You summoned him!” she accused, walking up to Derek. “You... You saw him.” Her voice broke slightly.

Scott, who had arrived first, scratched at the back of his neck. “It was my fault. I told him.”

Lydia whirled around to face him. “Why the hell would you do that? Stiles told you _not to_. He didn't want this!” Before Scott opened his mouth to reply, Lydia turned back to Derek. “If you did something stupid, like selling your soul, I swear, I will-”

“No,” Derek replied, cutting her off. “I didn't.” He paused. “Stiles wouldn't let me.”

Lydia threw her hands up. “And yet again, Stiles Stilinski saves your idiotic ass. As a demon. Jesus, Derek, why didn't you just talk to me?”

Derek scowled at her. “Because _you_ lied to me. You both did,” he said, pinning Scott with a glare as well.

Isaac held up a hand from the couch. “Allison and I didn't lie to you. We had no idea.” His voice was hard and accusing, and he and Allison traded looks.

“Stiles told us not to,” Scott told them all quietly.

“Stiles was practically dead already,” Derek snapped, feeling guiltily satisfied at everyone's flinches. “He had no right to keep that from me.”

Lydia's face went blank. “He owed you nothing, but he stood by what he did, from the moment he had done it to when the hellhounds ripped him apart.”

“I didn't deserve it!” Derek yelled. Didn't they realise? They'd all be better off, Derek included, if Stiles were alive and Derek was dead, the way it should be. Derek wasn't worth it.

“Stiles thought you did,” Scott said.

Derek shook his head. “He... I could tell he regretted it. After I came back-”

“He wasn't about to lead you on, maybe declare his undying fucking love for you when he was just going to die, Derek,” Lydia snapped. “Stiles didn't want you to get attached because he didn't want you to lose someone else.”

“Well he failed, didn't he?”

“Stiles gets to you. You can't help but like him,” Isaac said sadly. “Even when he's being a complete jerk.”

Allison stood up from the couch and faced everyone, but looked at Scott, their alpha. “We find a way to get him back. There'll be a way, Scott.”

“To what?”

“To cure a demon.”

* * *

_The last time Stiles saw Derek, he hadn't seen him in a month._

_Derek opened the door with a scowl. “What do you want?” he asked, in the tone that suggested Stiles' wasn't welcome. Since Stiles drew away from Derek, it was the only tone applied to him anymore. No more banter, or jokes, or warm compliments as rare as they were honest._

_It hurt to be treated like this by Derek, but it's what Stiles was hoping for, wasn't it? “So... your official death-day is in two weeks. How are you going to celebrate?”_

_Derek gave him a flat look. “Go home, Stiles.”_

_Stiles pushed past him to get inside, his eyes drawn to the place where Stiles had found Derek. “I just... I wanted to see how you were.”_

_Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? You haven't bothered to do so before.”_

Because in two weeks I'll be dead _. “It was an impulsive decision.” He shrugged. “And I haven't seen you in a while.”_

 _Derek wouldn't stop staring at him, more to unnerve him that to figure him out. The distance Stiles had imposed on them wasn't a gradual thing. It was sudden, it was noticeable. Even the sheriff commented on it, and he hadn't even know exactly_ how _Stiles knew Derek until six months before Derek had died._

_And it was selfish, Stiles supposed, but he didn't want to leave on bad terms. “I'm sorry.”_

_Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “What for?”_

_Stiles gestured between them. “This. Everything. How I-”_

_Derek took a step forward. “How you've been ignoring me for months? How you push me away and avoid me?”_

_Stiles stood his ground, even though he wanted to break down and confess everything right there. “Yes. All of that. I'm sorry.”_

“ _So you did it on purpose?” Derek was close now, right in front of him._

_Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”_

“Why? _”_

_Stiles shook his head. “I can't tell you. My reasons are my own.”_

_Derek's face twisted into a frustrated scowl, and Stiles remembered when he made it his job to make Derek happy, relaxed. And now he was doing the opposite. “That's not good enough.”_

_Stiles let out a shaky breath, because he wasn't prepared for this, for Derek to look so betrayed and closed off and hurt. “Just trust me, Derek.”_

_Derek's anger seemed to calm down a fraction. “I trust you,” he said, his voice soft. “I just... Why don't you trust me?”_

_Stiles looked down, scuffling his feet, unable to look into those eyes that he had seen empty and cold before. And then he took a deep breath, looked up, and, just as he was about to open his mouth, Derek kissed him._

_And before Stiles knew what was happening, he was kissing Derek back, their lips dry and moving together in a frantic kind of chaos, and it was nothing like Stiles imagined. It was_ wrong _, it was too hurried, too much like they each were snatching up something before it got away. And they were, but Derek didn't know that._

_Stiles always imagined it would be sweet, passionate, a promise instead of goodbye._

_Stiles pushed at Derek's shoulders, and, even though it hurt, and he hated himself for it, he closed off, giving Derek the same cold stare that he had been giving him all year._

“ _I have to go,” he said, keeping his voice even and neutral._

_He left Derek standing there, a look of anguish and resignation plain on his face, and held off the tears until he got home._

* * *

“Are you sure it's safe? What if we don't get Stiles?” Scott asked Lydia, worry creasing his brow.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “As long as we know his real name and I do the rest correctly, we'll get Stiles. And I'll do the rest correctly.” She shot Derek a sympathetic look. “Do you think he'll harm us?”

Derek shrugged. “He's a demon. There's no saying what he would do.”

The room fell silent for a few moments, while everyone contemplated their friend, the one person they could all count on to pull their heads out of their asses, being a potentially homicidal hellspawn with no regard for sentimental values such as “friends”.

“Get on with it,” Isaac snapped, breaking the tension. Lydia narrowed her eyes at him briefly before lighting each candle carefully.

She picked up the knife from the table and sliced it across her palm, letting out a soft noise of pain as she squeezed her hand into a fist and let the blood drop into the bowl in front of her. Once that was done, she lit another match and dropped it into the bowl, the powders and ingredients flaring up with the flame of the candles, the scent of fire reaching Derek's nostrils and making his eyes flash blue.

“ _I_ _vocare te maledicti spiritus ab inferno, Szymon Stilinski. Audi me obligare ad me demon inferni,_ ” she chanted.

The flames died down, and then went out entirely. For a moment, everyone stared at Lydia, and then scanned the room for any sign of Stiles.

And they got it, in the form of a bleeding out body, slumped on the floor, his head limp and blood staining his clothes, surrounded by a devil's trap.

“Stiles!” Scott called out, making his way towards him as though not bothering to resist a magnetic force.

Stiles lifted his head and looked straight at Scotty, and for the first time in two years, Derek saw a genuine smile there. “Scotty. Didn't think-” he coughed, and blood splattered the floor of the loft. “-didn't think I'd see you again.”

Derek grabbed Scott's shoulder and held him back, and Scott threw him an annoyed look, which Derek ignored in favour of meeting Stiles' eyes.

“What happened to you?”

Stiles breathed out a pained laugh and fell back, lounging on the floor comfortably, despite looking like an extra in a slasher film. “I was at a party.”

Everyone else seemed to be holding their breath. They had never seen Stiles like this: comfortable in his own body, cocky, not wearing plaid, oblivious or willfully ignorant of the fact that everyone thought he was _dead_ , and now he comes back with shiny new eyes and a rewritten personality in favour of the dark side.

Stiles clapped his hands together. “Anyway, now that I have you all gathered here... _why_ are we gathered here? Little reunion, need help with the latest paranormal creature? Just because we were friends once, doesn't mean you get to call in favours. Actually, I think _I_ should be calling in favours.”

Allison cracked first. “We're going to help you,” she told him softly.

Stiles frowned at her, and then met the eyes of everyone else in the room. His eyes flickered to black, and he grinned at the collective gasp of all of his friends.

But when he looked at Derek, the grin fell away to a scowl. “You. I _told_ you, you thick-headed asshole. I told you that I don't want to be saved. I _can't_ be saved. I should've fucking killed you when I had the chance.”

Isaac paled, and Scott let out a low growl, cutting it off just as quickly when he realised _who_ he was growling at. “Stiles, buddy, let us help you.”

“You can't possibly be happy the way you are,” Lydia spoke up, her voice strong and her posture straight and intimidating.

But not to Stiles. His face lit up when he looked at her, like it did before, when it would always set something off in Derek that he refused to identify as jealously.

“Lydia Martin, as I live and breathe, of which I only do one of, technically. Tell me, then, what's your big plan, huh? You think you can just apply your abnormally high IQ to such occult situations as your friend becoming a demon?”

“Yes,” Lydia answered simply.

Stiles' grin just got wider, and instead of seeming discouraged, he looked entertained. “That's where you're wrong. Do you all want to know what they did to me, your ol' buddy Stiles? They tortured me beyond what the human body can withstand. Every single day. It was like that Greek myth. They'd torture me, then I'd heal so they could do it all again. I spent a year there, but it felt like one hundred. And, at the end of each day, they'd offer me a choice: I pick up the whip and share what I've learned with the class, or I keep at perfecting my screaming. Took me fifty years of torture to say yes. By then I was already a demon.

“I got topside a few months later, and I was enjoying my freedom, messing with those ridiculous human cults and Wiccans and whatever. I killed, I fucked, I did it all over again. Until this _genius,_ ” he muttered, tilting his head towards Derek with a glare, “decided to go try and sell his soul for me.”

By the end of Stiles' little speech, he was scowling at Derek, while everyone – including Derek – were staring in horror at what remained of their friend. This Stiles was broken to the point where he was past caring, all that remained of his memories of having a human soul was pain.

Scott's eyes were watering when he stepped forward. “What... what about your dad?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “What about my dad? He's moving on, he can hand-”

“-handle a life without his wife and son?” Isaac accused, his eyes burning yellow with anger. “You've been given the choice, and you'll still leave him without a family? Your own _father_?”

Stiles rose to the challenge, to the anger, and it was the first genuine emotion Derek had sensed from him, other than mild annoyance. “People die, people get over it. He's stronger than you all give him credit for. Now let me out.”

Lydia shook her head, even as her eyes started to water and her voice started to crack. “No. You're going to stay there until we find a way. Or you'll just mess with us, you'll just stop us.”

Stiles bared his teeth at her. “The moment I get out, I'm going to skin you all and feed you to wolves. Real wolves, just to be poetic.”

* * *

_The moment the hallucinations started, Stiles left. He didn't leave Beacon Hills. He didn't have the heart to die anywhere else._

_But he left the house, told his dad he was just driving to look around Berkeley's campus, and he'd be back in a few days._

_By then, he had one day left._

_He told Scott the same thing, so when he was walking through the woods, reminiscing about the days when he carried an inhaler with him and looked out for Scott, and the worst thing that happened to him was Jackson Whittemore and the best thing that happened to him was when Lydia Martin acknowledged him, he was surprised to find his best friend following him as well._

“ _Stiles, what's going on?”_

_Stiles didn't turn around. Scott could smell his tears but he couldn't see them. “I just need to be left alone for a bit, dude.”_

_Scott spun him around, resting his hand on Stiles' shoulder. “Tell me, Stiles. Please. You've been acting strange lately, you've been... sadder. And right now you smell terrified.”_

_Stiles shrugged and gave his best friend a small smile. “These woods have bad memories. Specifically, death and life-altering bites from psycho alphas.”_

“ _Stiles... I just want to help. You and Lydia... you've both been really secretive lately, and... Let me help you.”_

_Damn Scott McCall and his puppy-dog eyes, no one could resist them._

“ _You can't help, Scott. No one can help me, okay? So just let it go, and... and we'll discuss it tomorrow.” Stiles' throat closed up at the promise he knew he couldn't keep._

_The howling of the hellhounds was getting closer; they were closing in, he didn't have much time._

“ _Is this about Derek?” Scott asked quietly._

_Stiles laughed bitterly. “When isn't it, huh?” He knew he should walk away, but this... This was going to be the last time he saw Scott, his best friend, his brother._

_Scott's eye turned sad and empathetic. “Stiles, you and Derek can work it out, okay? Whatever it is. Nothing's unfixable.”_

“ _This is,” Stiles replied, looking over Scott's shoulder. He could hear the growling, barely ten feet away._

Screw it, _Stiles thought. A whole year of keeping secrets, but now, what was the point?_

_Stiles grabbed Scott's shoulders, desperation tinging his voice. “Scott, I haven't got much time. In fact, I'm out of time, so you need to listen to everything I say, okay?”_

_Scott nodded, looking confused but supportive, which was like a permanent state of being for him._

“ _Lydia didn't bring Derek back, I did. I made a deal, with a demon. I get Derek alive and well, and I die a year later.” Scott was about to open his mouth, his eyes wide and panicked, disbelieving, so Stiles squeezed his shoulder and talked over him. “You can't see it, and it can't harm you, but there's a hellhound right behind you. Keep looking at me, Scott._

“ _Don't blame Derek, don't hate him, okay? I made this choice, and I stand by it. This is on me. And talk to Lydia about it, if you need to. Look after my dad. Do your best, because it's going to crush him, losing his wife_ and _his son._

“ _And... Scotty, you're my brother, and I love you, so I don't want you to be here for this. You have to go.”_

_Scott's eyes were watering. “No... No, Stiles, I'm not leaving you. This hellhound or whatever, I can fight it.” He tried to turn around, but Stiles gripped his shoulders harder, digging his fingers into Scott's shoulder._

“ _Scott, come on. I don't want anyone... I don't want you to see me die.” His voice cracked on the last word, and Stiles could feel himself come apart. He was going to die. He was going to die, and he was going to leave behind so many people._

_Scott shook his head stubbornly. “I believe you Stiles, and I... You're not dying alone.” Scott's arms wrapped around his back, and he pulled Stiles into a hug. “Not while-”_

_A vicious snarl cut through his sentence._

* * *

Derek walked into his loft to find Stiles passed out on the armchair they gave him, his head lolling to the side and his mouth open in a light huff of a snore.

Lydia looked up from her staring to meet Derek's eyes. “It's like he never changed. When he's sleeping.”

Derek nodded almost imperceptibly, and passed Lydia the paper bag of sushi she had requested. “Find anything?”

Lydia shook her head. “I've been creating a network of contacts, since before he even died, but it's not enough. I know how to exorcise a demon, I know how to trap them and bind them and hurt them... but not how to cure them.”

Derek looked across at Stiles, who was drooling now, and twitching uncomfortably. If Derek was okay with his bed smelling like sulfur, he'd draw a devil's trap around it and let Stiles sleep in a real bed. But this Stiles wouldn't appreciate such kindness. He'd mock Derek, he'd taunt him, and then he'd find a way to spite him.

“What if he's right, and there is no cure?”

“Then we kill him.”

Derek had his claws out before he even knew what he was doing. “ _Kill_ him? You want to kill Stiles?”

Lydia shrugged, though her shaky voice indicated she was anything but nonchalant. “You know him, Derek. The old Stiles. He would never have wanted this for himself. He'd be pissed at us for not killing him by now and you know it.”

“Now, we can't have that, can we?” a female voice drawled from behind them. Lydia's eyes widened and Derek spun around to see a small woman, with dark clothes and dark hair and a mocking smirk on her face.

“Who are you?” Derek asked through his fangs. Lydia was frozen to the spot. She had no weapons or powers save an inconsistent scream.

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Meg. I'm a demon.” Her eyes flickered to black momentarily. “And _you_ must be the lucky puppy that Stiles sold his soul for, huh?”

Derek repressed a growl and pulled back the fangs, but kept the claws out. “What do you want?”

Meg shrugged and flopped onto the couch, crossing her legs on the coffee table. “I heard your little banshee there – hi, sweetheart, don't be shy – has been poking around, pestering us. Trying find a cure for the 'demon disease'.” Her voice was taunting and her face mocking as she waggled her fingers at Lydia, who had regained her composure and was glaring daggers at Meg, even as Derek could hear her heart beating furiously.

“So, what? You're here to stop us?” Lydia asked, a look of pure disdain on her face that only Lydia Martin could achieve.

Meg tilted her head. “I don't know... maybe I should. I mean, my little Stiles over there, he's my... _friend_.” Derek bristled at the emphasis on _friend_ , at the “my Stiles”. Meg noticed, and grinned at him. “Look, Stiles is a good kid. Fast learner, hilarious, great in bed. Like, wow, he must've been a ladies man before, because you _don't_ learn that in Hell.” Derek didn't rise to the bait this time, and she shrugged again and continued, “The point is, he's got heart. Maybe not to you sentimental meat bags, but to us demons? He's strong. He's held onto his humanity quite successfully. Got a big heart and a big – _S_ _zymon!_ Szymon Stilinski, wake the fuck up, Jesus.”

Stiles snapped awake with a sleepy snort that was so like Stiles that it ached. Derek found his claws receding, and sensed Lydia relaxing, even though, technically, they were in a room with _two_ alert demons now.

“Meg,” Stiles grumbled with familiarity that felt wrong to Derek. Like, for so long Derek thought Stiles was dead, and now he's a demon with a demon friend and Derek felt _wronged_. “You come to bust me out? These meatsacks were _warned-”_

“Yes, jeez,” Meg sighed, standing up and making her way to the devil's trap.

Derek moved to stop her. “Don't-”

Meg turned to face him, a sweet, innocent smile on her face and a long, silver blade in her hand. “You, _dog,_ learn your place. I'm cuddlier than most demons but that doesn't mean I won't stick you like a pincushion just to see how fast your blood flows.”

Derek would've gone after her, for the sheer anger that her little speech inspired, but for the delicately manicured hand on his arm, stopping him.

Meg spun around and knelt at the circle, Stiles eagerly waiting at the edge. She scraped the paint off quickly, and Stiles strolled out. He swung an arm around her shoulder and grinned, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“What say we paint the town red?”

Meg shoved him playfully, and he stumbled back with a dark grin. The couple didn't seem to remember they were in the presence of a werewolf and a banshee. “Last time you said that, I was cleaning spleen juice and lung fluids out of my hair. It took three washes.”

Stiles shrugged. “We must make sacrifices for fun.”

Meg nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. “We must.” And then she was swinging her hand, the one with the blade, and it connected with the side of Stiles' head. He crumpled to the ground as Derek lurched forward, but Meg held out a hand and he faced planted... nothing. It was like an invisible barrier.

“What the hell was that?” Lydia shrieked, pounding against the barrier with her fists as Meg picked Stiles' lanky body up with ease that didn't befit her little body.

Meg gave them both a look of contempt. “ _You_ , wolf-boy. I have half a mind to slice you right now, just on principal, for turning Stiles into a monster. And little banshee, calm down before you give yourself a brain aneurysm. You want to cure him? Well, I know a guy. Two guys, actually, who have recently figured it out. Mind you, they aren't the brightest bunnies, but they can do it. They owe me, I'm collecting.” She looked down at Stiles. “I'm not doing it for either of you. I'm doing it for him. Don't wait up. When he's human again, if I were him, I wouldn't come back.”

And then they were gone in a swirl of black smoke and the stench of sulfur.

* * *

_When Derek got the text from Scott, to tell him to meet him at the hospital, that is was urgent, he didn't know what to expect._

_To be told, by his alpha's dull and dead voice, that Stiles was dead, seemed like a cruel joke._

_In fact, he wolfed out there and then, not even caring enough to be grateful that Melissa McCall had anticipated this and cleared the hallway. Derek accused Scott of lying, he accused Stiles of playing some sick prank. And then Stiles would come out from where he was hiding, and grin and slap Derek on the back, and then they'd talk about why they were all_ really _there._

_But Derek couldn't smell Stiles. Couldn't hear the familiar frantic stutter of his heartbeat. And Scott..._

_Scott was covered in blood, and it took a long moment for Derek's brain to catch on and realise that it was_ Stiles' _blood._

_And that's when Derek found himself in the morgue, looking at the jagged slices of claws but the scent of no animal, no werewolf on him. His skin was so pale that his moles looked almost black in contrast. His eyelashes were longer than Derek had ever noticed. And his eyes... that unique amber... Derek would never see them again._

_That's when Derek broke down._

_It took him a full week to figure out that Stiles had expected to die._

_After pushing Derek away, ignoring him, ever since he came back from the dead, he showed up, he showed up and apologised._

_Stiles had smelled like anxiety, fear, and loss. He had smelled like that since Derek came back, and it got worse over time._

_Derek found himself missing the long looks, the extended eye-contact, the inside jokes, the banter. Stiles' no-so-subtle plan to make Derek happy. He lost all subtlety when he drunk-dialled Derek and whispered the plan over the phone, and then told Derek that he wasn't meant to know so he had to keep it a secret._

_Instead of that, Derek's reward for pulling himself out of whatever afterlife he had been in, Stiles stopped. He stopped coming around for no reason other than to keep Derek company. He actively avoided eye-contact, and then texting. They communicated through Scott, and only when necessary. His scent, which usually floated around in the loft, was stale but constant, a reminder of how long it had been since he had stepped foot in there. He became more reckless, putting himself in situations where he could've easily gotten killed. And he had sex with almost every willing stranger to pass through town._

_Which hurt, because they were almost_ something _. They were close, and Derek was waiting for his eighteenth birthday to even accept those feelings, but they were getting harder to ignore. And then Stiles was throwing it away, giving it all up to these strangers and kids who didn't know how valuable Stiles' affection was, however short-lived._

_Derek kissed him because his apology sounded more like a goodbye than anything. He kissed him because of the dread in his gut that told him he wouldn't get another chance, to get back what they had lost._

_And then Stiles had pushed him away with an unreadable expression, and Derek realised that it was too late. And he hated Stiles, then, because Stiles was the one who pulled away._

_But Derek was the one who let him go, and now Stiles wasn't breathing on the cold steel table, right in front of him. Free of blame and free of life, and Derek couldn't hate him. He was, however, an expert on self-blame._

* * *

When Stiles woke up, the first thing he did was snarl. The demonic, animalistic smile that rivalled a werewolf's.

“I thought you said he wouldn't be angry,” a gruff male voice said.

Stiles let the black in his eyes recede and scowled at the man crouching in front of him, far away enough that Stiles couldn't go for his neck, examining him with slightly-veiled disgust.

He struggled against the bonds that tied him to the chair, but every little movement burned like acid. The roped were soaked in holy water, no doubt.

“He won't when you cure him,” Meg spoke up from the corner of the... dungeon?

Stiles groaned. “Meg, please tell me you're not thinking of curing me. Really?”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “I'm doing you a favour, kiddo.”

Stiles glared at her. “You gift-wrapped me to the Winchesters, Meg.” Stiles looked at the man in front of him. “They're brutes, no finesse at all. They kill first, ask questions later.”

Dean – everyone knew the pouty one was Dean – scowled at him. “I still might, you twerp.”

Meg sighed. “They owe me a favour. I died for them, once.”

Stiles pulled a face at her. “Well, if you love them so much, why don't _you_ get cured, huh?”

“I'm throwing you under the bus. You're the test, to see if this thing actually works. Depending on how broken you are as a human, I'll do it.”

Stiles took a small comfort in this. Typical demon behavior, stabbing each other in the back, usually literally. It was familiar, and not as unnerving as his friends doing it for _him_. A long time ago, Stiles understood what it was like to be selfless, understood sentimentality like that. Now, he couldn't.

That part of himself had been burned out of his soul. He doubted the Winchesters could fix it.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Dean. “Well? Are you going to do it?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You're just going to let it happen, just like that? You're giving up.”

Stiles shrugged, as well as he could tied to a chair. “You'll do it anyway, regardless of whether I want you to. I have little faith in your abilities to pull this off, though. I'm just in it for the pain.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Figured you'd be a pain junkie.”

The door to the far side of the room swung open, and Sam walked in.

“Wow, I thought they were exaggerating about the hair. And the height. And the good looks.” Stiles winked at the man, and smirked at the furrowed brow he got in return.

He noticed that in one hand, Sam was holding a syringe. Full of blood.

“Meg...” Stiles started, his eyes flicking to black. The blood made him uneasy.

“Easy, kid,” she chirped, noticing his unease. “I promise, I'll make them stop before they kill you. But it shouldn't come to that.”

Stiles shook his head. “I changed my mind. I don't want this. Find someone else, Meg. I don't want this.” The humanity in that blood was singing out to him, and he, for the first time in a long time, was legitimately scared. Because humanity was vulnerable, it had flaws. It _cared_ , and it hated everything to do with demons. Stiles had never been big on self-hate, not since he got topside. He didn't care enough about who he was and what he did to hate himself.

But if he became human, he'd care. He'd worry about the little things. He'd worry about his father, about the pack, and about the future. He'd be easier to kill but he'd stick his neck out for other people. He'd risk his life for other people, because Stiles knew that he had been like that before.

Stiles watched with wide eyes, thrashing against the ropes binding him, snarling at Sam as he approached.

The needle sunk into his neck and it burned.

* * *

It had been a week since Stiles had been kidnapped by that demon, and none of them were closer to finding him. They'd all agreed that they wouldn't tell the sheriff. At least, not until they got him back and intact. Human. The sheriff didn't need to see what had become of his son.

Scott had taken to staying at Derek's, sleeping on the couch. So it was Scott who woke Derek up, shaking his shoulder as the alarm rang through the loft and the red light flashed.

They both gave each other hesitant looks, not daring to voice their hopes that maybe Stiles had come back, before the door swung open, and two men walked in.

One of them, the taller one, carried Stiles in, limp and soft-faced, while the other one had his gun out, giving Scott a look of steel.

“If I had known we were delivering to a wolf pack, I would've... _not_ delivered to a wolf pack,” the shorter one said.

“What did you do to him?” Derek asked, struggling to hold back his fangs, because the only indication that Stiles was alive was his heartbeat. Derek couldn't smell any blood, but that didn't mean he wasn't hurt.

“Relax,” the taller one said, moving across the room to carefully lie Stiles out on the couch. “Meg left as soon as it was finished, so we had to drop him off ourselves. When he realised where we were taking him, we had to knock him out.” He grimaced and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. He'll have a bit of a headache.”

Derek held Scott back as he growled and tried to step forward. “Scott. Put those away,” he said softly, tilting his head to the claws that Scott had unsheathed.

Scott took a deep breath and nodded, the red in his eyes bleeding back into dark brown.

“Who the hell are these guys?” Isaac asked, yawning and stumbling down the spiral staircase.

The short man huffed out a sigh. “Three werewolves?”

The tall one raised his eyebrows at him. “Put the gun away, Dean.” He kept staring until Dean did, with a scowl on his face.

The tall one held his hand out to Derek, obviously thinking that Derek held the authority here, even though Scott was the alpha. “I'm Sam, this is my brother, Dean. We helped your friend.”

Derek shook the hand, after a nod from Scott. Isaac peered over Derek's shoulder at Stiles. “Shouldn't we put Stiles in a devil's trap? I mean, he threatened us pretty convincingly.”

Sam shook his head. “He's human,” he said gently. “He's fine now.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, as fine as he can be.”

“Dean...”

Dean turned to everyone else. “Look, this kid, he's been through Hell. He's strong, but that place... it breaks you. He will never be able to forget what he went through or what he's done. You're _extremely_ lucky to have him back, but he's not going to be the same. Don't expect that of him.”

The werewolves were silent for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of Stiles' chest, breathing in his scent, uninfluenced by sulfur or other people's blood. It was really him.

“Dean?” he groaned, his heartbeat picking up from the relaxed beat of sleep. “Wha- Where are we?”

Dean came up to Stiles' side, grabbing his shoulders. “Hey, hey, kid, take it easy.”

Stiles sat up and rubbed his eyes, then glared at Dean. “Did you knock me out?” he accused. And then his breath caught, and he tensed. “You son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Dean grinned at him, though it looked more sad than anything. “You gotta face your demons, kid.”

Stiles pulled a face at Dean before turning around. The moment he saw them, Scott, Derek, and Isaac, he went pale. “Shit.”

Dean patted him on the shoulder. “We better hit the road. No rest for the wicked. You take care of yourself, okay?”

Stiles nodded, tearing his gaze from his friends to shake Dean's hand. “Thanks for... saving me.” His voice was rough with emotion, emotion Derek hadn't seen or heard from Stiles since before he died. And it was like nothing had changed, when everything had changed, and Derek needed to remember that.

“You have my number, if you ever need to...”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Whine about my feelings and gossip about boys?”

Dean lightly ruffled Stiles' hair. “Shut up.” He stood up and made for the door, pausing to look straight at Derek. “Remember what I said.” And then he was gone.

Stiles stood up from the couch on shaky legs, and then walked up to Sam, avoiding the eyes of his friends, tackling him with a fierce hug.

Sam let out a small laugh and hugged him back briefly, before stepping away and nodding to everyone. “See you later, I guess.”

The loft door slid shut, and the noise echoed through the loft, and Stiles still wasn't looking at anyone, just staring at the door.

Isaac stepped forward first. “Stiles-?”

“I need coffee,” Stiles said, turning to face them with a slightly-panicked expression on his face. “Please? I just... I need coffee.” He was looking at Isaac, who nodded, with a small, encouraging smile, and headed to the kitchen.

Which left Stiles alone with Scott and Derek.

He scratched the back of his neck and looked down at the floor, distress and guilt pouring off him. “I'm sorry,” he said.

It was just like the last time Derek had seen him before he died. Apologising, not looking at anyone, staring at the same spot in the floor Scott told him Derek died.

Scott exhaled softly, staring at Stiles as if he wasn't real, as if his eyes would turn black and he'd smirk and say “fooled ya”. Or maybe that was just Derek.

Without warning, and ignoring Stiles' flinch, Scott hugged him, tighter than what would have been comfortable, and Derek felt something loosen up in his chest at the strangled squeak Stiles let out.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and hugged Scott back, and if this wasn't Derek's place, he'd feel like he was intruding. He felt awkward, not knowing what to do, what to say to him.

So he left.

* * *

Stiles was wary of seeing his father again. He was grateful that no one had told him about the demon thing, more than grateful. It'd be better if he never found out about that.

Scott volunteered to go first, and Stiles agreed. Scott was a calming presence in the middle of an intense situation.

The moment he saw his dad open the door, though, Stiles almost broke down and hugged him. The sheriff seemed to have aged ten years, his mouth pulled down in a sad expression that Stiles had only seen after his mom died, except this time he didn't even try to hide his pain.

Scott walked inside, the sheriff closed the door, and Stiles waited.

Ten minutes later, his father opened the door, peering into the dark, his face a mixture of fear and hope. “Stiles?” he called out hesitantly.

Stiles took a deep breath and looked away from his father, steeling himself to go to him. Because, after everything he'd been through, he got to have this. After everything he had done, and still, somehow, some god or higher power still saw Stiles as deserving of a family, even though he had robbed so many people of theirs in the months he'd spent as a demon.

The sheriff looked like he was starting to doubt himself, so Stiles stepped out of the shadows he was hiding in. Because his father deserved to have his son back.

The moment the sheriff's eyes found Stiles, he was striding across the front lawn determinedly, and before Stiles could take another step in either direction, his father's arms were around him, holding him tightly.

Stiles' breath hitched in his throat until he was choking out sobs, and he didn't realising he was repeating “I'm sorry,” over and over again until his dad drew back, his hands holding Stiles in place by his shoulders, giving him a small smile.

“It's okay, son,” he said. “Stiles. _Stiles_.” He seemed to be saying Stiles' name for the sake of saying it, and Stiles was torn between hugging his father again and just looking at him.

Stiles may have sold his soul and _died_ for Derek, but the first thing running through his mind when the Winchesters cured him was that he got to see his dad again. Hell, that was what he had been thinking since he got out of Hell, though some part of him knew that he wouldn't be able to fake the whole “good son” act.

Stiles blinked through tears and smiled. “Hey, Dad.”

His dad drew him in for another hug, and it must've been a solid minute before Stiles pulled back. “Can... can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” his dad answered, puzzled and relieved, his voice heavy with emotion. “Stiles, you don't need to ask.”

Stiles nodded and looked away, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat before making his way inside.

The first thing he did when he got inside was make them both coffee. Dean told him that, after being cured, he'd be exhausted for days while his body got used to be mortal again.

Scott had left during their reunion, so it was just him and his father, sitting at the table with a coffee, just like how they used to when his dad would use Stiles' mind to help him on a case in the middle of the night, or when they both couldn't sleep after his mom died and they'd just sit there, silently, too aware that the third seat at the table was empty and too aware of the raw pain of talking about her.

Stiles had been hoping that tonight would sort of be the same, where they'd sit in silent company, comfortable to not talk.

But after a few moments, his dad cleared his throat. “Scott said...” He trailed off with a frown.

Stiles leaned forward slightly. “What did he tell you?”

His dad seemed to hunch in on himself. “He said that you... sold your soul. That you got a year. And you got yourself out of Hell. He wouldn't tell me what you sold it for,” he replied, looking straight at Stiles.

Stiles looked down at his coffee and narrowed his eyes at the reflection he saw there. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Stiles...” his dad hesitated. “Look, I know you're going to spare me a lot of the details, and I'm not sure if I want to know everything anyway. But at least tell me why I spent the last two years without my son.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

Stiles dragged a hand down his face. “Derek.”

The sheriff frowned. “You sold your soul for Derek? Why?”

Stiles shrugged. “He was dead. And I... didn't want him to be dead.” He looked away from his father. “I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have left you alone.”

His dad shook his head. “Do you regret it? After all this time, do you regret it?”

Stiles frowned at his dad, thinking about his answer thoroughly. “No. Though, I would've preferred him to not have become such a dick since I left.”

His dad squinted in confusion at his son. “Stiles, it hasn't exactly been easy, you know. I... I thought I'd lost you. The pack almost fell apart. I heard that Lydia had to bang a few heads.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “That would've been terrifying to witness.”

The sheriff laughed, and it sounded a little hoarse, as though he hadn't done it in a while. “It's good to have you back. I... You don't know... Having to bury your own child-”

He looked overwhelmed, and Stiles leaned over and gave him a hug, because he was, just now, starting to regret what he had done, for the first time. Seeing what he had done to his dad, what he had put him through? The guilt just kept piling on, and Stiles knew that he'd be reminded of the consequences of that choice for the rest of his life.

* * *

Stiles sought him out two days later, after what Derek had heard was an emotional reunion with his father.

Derek had been expecting it, of course. Stiles had done a wonderful job of avoiding Derek like the plague before he died, but now there was no reason to ignore Derek. And every reason to confront him.

Derek wasn't ready to face him, though. And he didn't mean to punch him in the face, he swears. Stiles just walked in like he owned the place, and every emotion associated with Stiles rose to the surface when Derek had been so adamant on pushing them down, and the one emotion that had always been strongest in Derek since Peter had encouraged it as an anchor was anger. So he punched Stiles.

Stiles jerked back and swore, cupping his nose. “Dude. A little warning before you punch me next time.” He dropped his hand when he had ascertained that it wasn't broken or bleeding, and instead of a scowl, like Derek had been depending on, there was just guilt, and sadness. And Derek hated that look on his face. He wanted Stiles to be indignant, to be angry and annoyed and all those emotions that showed that he was a fighter, and that everything that endangers him just irritated him. That he couldn't be beaten down.

“I deserve that,” he continued to say, and Derek turned his back on Stiles, because it was all _wrong_. “Don't turn away from me, Derek. We need to talk and you know it.”

Derek gritted out, “So talk.”

Stiles walked around until he was in front of Derek, and bit his lip nervously. “I... don't know what to say, now.”

Derek shook his head at him. “Why don't you start with why you sold your soul?”

Stiles blinked. “You know why,” he edged.

“No, actually, I don't. I don't know what was running through your mind then, so why don't you enlighten me?”

Stiles blew out a breath. “Delving right into the heavy stuff, huh?” He nodded. “Fine. You want to know why I sold my soul for you? It was because I couldn't stand it. _You_ being dead. _You_ surviving the fire only to die before you reach _thirty_ , Derek! Is that really so hard to understand?”

Derek took a step closer. “Why would you care so much, Stiles?”

Stiles shuffled his feet. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

Derek crossed his arms stubbornly. “Yes.”

“Because I care about you,” Stiles replied, no hesitation, his voice softer than Derek had heard it in a long time. “And because we could've been something, once. We were heading there, weren't we?” he asked with a small, sad smile.

Derek closed his eyes against the sight of him, of Stiles, standing there and bringing up things that Derek hated to think about. He shouldn't have asked.

“It wasn't worth it, Stiles.”

He smelled Stiles' scent spike angrily, and opened his eyes to see Stiles scowling. “You mean _you_ weren't worth it?” Stiles stepped back, his hands shaking. “Well, screw you, Hale. I didn't go through everything, I didn't go through _Hell_ for you to dismiss it all. You know what? You're just like him.”

“Like who?” Derek asked automatically.

Stiles gave him a scornful look. “Like the guy who threatened to rip my throat out every time he saw me. The guy who pushed me against doors and barely tolerated me. But do you know what, Derek? I saved his life, too. Even when I barely knew you, when I barely _liked_ you, I would save your life because I thought it was _worth_ saving. So stow the self-loathing crap and take it as a compliment.”

Derek frowned. “Take you going to Hell for me as a compliment?”

“Yes,” Stiles answered patiently.

"You can't just...  _do that_ , Stiles! You can't go throwing your life away for everyone!"  _Don't you understand?_ Derek wanted to shout.  _Don't you see how important you are?_

"It's not everyone," Stiles replied sharply, cutting Derek with a glare. "It's you."

And then Derek was striding towards Stiles, and wrapping his arms around him, because he had missed him so fucking much, and to have him here again, yelling at him, trying to bring him out of his guilt and brooding... The only way Derek knew he wasn't dreaming was because he usually had nightmares, not miracles.

“I missed you,” Stiles murmured into Derek's shoulder. _I missed you_ , as though he'd just gone on holiday, or come back from college. _I missed you,_ like the situation they were in was completely normal.

After a few moments, Stiles whacked Derek on the shoulder, but made no move to break the embrace. “You dick, that's when you're meant to say you missed me too.”

“I missed you too, Stiles,” Derek said, amusement colouring his tone while he pulled away.

Stiles grinned at him before it faded, and he looked down at the ground. Not because he was shy, and not because he was nervous, but because he was guilty. Derek could smell it, couldn't smell anything _but_ guilt on his scent since he became human.

“I'm sorry for... being a demon, I guess,” he mumbled, a crease in his brow.

Derek nodded like he understood, but he didn't, and he couldn't begin to. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Stiles looked up at him and shook his head. “No. No, I don't think I do. It's just-” He shrugged. “You're a good thing. I don't want to spoil it, not yet.”

“A good thing?” Derek echoed. “How am I a good thing, Stiles? I'm the reason you-” He cut himself off.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek. “If you had stayed dead three years ago, we wouldn't be standing here now,” he said gently.

“What are you trying to say?” Derek asked him.

Stiles shook his head and turned away, brushing a hand through his hair and ruffling it. His heartbeat was quickening with frustration, which was an abrupt mood change for anyone else, but not for Stiles.

Stiles turned back to Derek with a frown on his face. “I don't... I don't _know_ ,” he replied. “I just... I can't just go back to the way things were three years ago, I can't just fall back into our routine. We had something then.” Stiles nodded at the look on Derek's face. “So I can't... I don't think I can do this.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, huffing out a breath, before turning on his heel and making for the door.

“So... what? You're going to go back to avoiding me?”

Stiles stopped, but didn't turn around. “You deserve someone less broken, Derek. The kid I was, he would've been good for you. Not me.”

Derek walked up behind him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. “Don't. I thought I would never see you again, Stiles. Did you really think that distancing yourself from me worked? Because it didn't. And then you _died_. And it almost killed me, because I lost someone else, and I keep losing people. Now you're back, you're here and you're whole. You're telling me that you can just go back to ignoring me?”

Stiles met Derek's eyes determinedly. “If I have to.”

“Don't do that,” Derek told him softly. “I don't care for you less if you're broken.”

Stiles shook his head, his eyes angry. “You don't know what I've done! I was a _demon_ , Derek. It's not just the torture that messed me up, it was the torturing _I_ did. You're telling me you want to be with a killer? Because that's what I am!” Stiles shove at Derek's chest, to try and get him to move, but Derek stayed where he was. “And I am _so_ afraid that it'll never go away." He took a shuddering breath and focused on somewhere on Derek's chest, avoiding his eyes. "I don't regret what I did, but I don't- I wouldn't be  _that_ ever again, for anything."

Derek grabbed Stiles' wrists, encircling them with his fingers gently. “We all have blood on our hands. That wasn't you, it wasn't all of you. And you don't have to carry this alone anymore.”

"I shouldn't have to drag anyone down with me either."

Derek brushed a hand through his hair, feeling on edge with desperation to reassure Stiles, to help him, but he was out of his depth. He had no idea what kind of torture Stiles went through, and he had no idea what to say.

Stiles cut in before he could even try. "There's no  _getting through this_ , Derek. I will never get over what I've done, so don't even try." He stared at where Derek's thumb was brushing against the pale skin of his inner wrist. “Dean and Sam are letting me stay with them. Dean, uh, he went through the same thing. He can help me... adjust."

Some part of Derek, some selfish part of him, wanted to beg Stiles to stay, He didn't think he could bear it, Stiles going away again when he just got back, when his scent had just started to seep back into the town again.

But Derek just swallowed down his protests and nodded. "Where-" He cleared his throat and looked down at their hands, still joined. "Where is it? Their place?"

Stiles shrugged. "Some old war bunker from the 1930s. In Kansas." There was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Some real old books there, all about the supernatural."

Derek nodded, but didn't say anything, reluctant to let the conversation go and to let Stiles go. Stiles gave him an indescribable look, his amber eyes catching the light and taking Derek's breath away. "I'll be back," he promised. "I won't leave my dad. Not again."

Derek looked at Stiles' shirt, the _studmuffin_ one that Derek had always found ridiculous, if endearing. "What about me?" he said gently.

"What?"

"Would you come back," Derek said, looking Stiles in the eyes, "for me?"

Stiles twisted his wrist until his fingers were intertwined with Derek's, and he gave them an almost reassuring squeeze, even as he frowned. "I... Derek, it isn't that easy. I can't just... You have to understand," he said, catching Derek's eye and holding him in place. "What I did... There are only two other people I love enough to do that for, and-" Stiles voice faltered and he pulled their hands apart, as though he had just realised the gravity of his statement, of what he had just admitted. He stumbled over his feet with painfully familiar clumsiness, and tried for the door.

But Derek grabbed his hand, stopping him again, and pulled him into a bruising kiss, Stiles' mouth opening automatically. It was deep, and it was so much  _more_ than their desperate, regretful first kiss. It voiced all the things Derek couldn't say - because he wasn't exactly vocal - and Stiles gave it everything he didn't want to admit. Stiles' hands curled around Derek's neck and tugged lightly at the tufts of hair there, inspiring a moan from Derek, which he swallowed by deepening the kiss.

Derek  it off and leaned their foreheads together. “You're unbelievable,” he whispered, letting his hand stray to the back of Stiles' neck and rest there. He closed the gap between them when Stiles had opened his mouth to say something else, just a press of the lips, before pulling back again. "And you're  _here_." His voice broke and he dropped his face into the crook of Stiles' neck, inhaling the scent that was so rich there and pressing their bodies tighter.

"Derek," Stiles whispered brokenly, his arms wrapping around Derek. "Derek,  _Jesus_ , I... I'm still going."

"I know," Derek mumbled into his neck.

Stiles let out a shuddering sigh, his breath hot against Derek's neck, and Derek smelled it, the pain, the shame, the guilt. It had mixed into his scent, but it didn't belong. "Let me come with you," Derek said, pulling back and looking Stiles in the eye.

Stiles shook his head. "I don't..." Something changed in him suddenly, and he stood straighter, biting his lip. "Okay," he replied, his voice still hoarse from the kiss. "Okay. But uh... They don't like werewolves, so keep the fangs to a minimum, huh?"

And Stiles gave him a smile, a small, weak smile, which faded away quickly, but Derek felt like it was the start of something different, something new.

 

* * *

 

 **And if I only could,**  
**Make a deal with God,**  
**And get him to swap our places**

-Kate Bush, [Running Up That Hill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wp43OdtAAkM)[  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vN_67KMy9W0)

(And [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vN_67KMy9W0) the Track And Field version, which I prefer)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! And don't be shy - I want your opinion. So, you know, click that comment button below. If you want. And if you have any questions and shit, I live for questions. About anything. Demons. Angel hierarchy. Nail polish.. _Anything_. [Also, tumblr.](http://unadulterated-exasperation.tumblr.com/) I run a pretty smooth (by which I mean full of awkward ramblings) blog  
> 


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